Chemistry
by White Lily of Wutai
Summary: "It started in your Freshman year. It might have started before that, though, in those awkward Junior-High years when you didn't even know you wanted what you wanted, but you like to think it started your Freshman year." Jean/Armin. Prompt: Highschool popular kid/nerd.


**Yay, JeanArmin! The prompt was Highschool popular kid/nerd, so here you go! **

**TW: Smut referenced, body mutilation referenced, body fluids referenced, but none in graphic detail.**

**Word count: ****1,416 words.**

**As always, reviews feed this pathetic writer's soul. **

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><p>It started in your Freshman year.<p>

It might have started before that, though, in those awkward Junior-High years when you didn't even know you wanted what you wanted, but you like to think it started your Freshman year.

You, like the- though attractive- idiot you were, left your book bag in the chemistry lab, thinking you could go and grab it after practice. Which you couldn't. Because apparently they lock all classroom doors after 4:30. And it was 4:40.

So you were standing there, head resting against the doors as you try to find a way to get to your book bag because _fuck, I have a five page report due in English tomorrow and the fucking prompt is in my bag_, when he walks up. The quiet kid from class; you didn't even know his name at the time. To you, he was just bobbed blonde hair, big pretty eyes, and looked like a girl if you weren't paying attention.

He walks up and asks in that sweet, soft voice of his if anything's wrong.

And you, aspiring cool-kid, tell him everything and practically beg for his help. Which he gives. Kind of surprising since this is the first time the two of you have spoken more than a few words to each other.

He surprises you even more when he pulls the master-key ring out of his Wings of Freedom messenger bag and unlocks the door for you. You just kind of blink at him in shock for a moment before he's pushing you through the doorway with an almost snappish, (you really don't think a voice like his _can _be snappish) "Hurry up!"

You ask him about the keys after you get your shit and thank him.

He tells you, with a completely innocent, completely terrifying smile, that you're better off not knowing.

You completely forget to ask his name until you're half-way home and it's far too late.

The next time you have anything really to do with him, it's your Sophomore year, you're taking your required chemistry course, and he's your assigned lab partner.

Armin Arlet. That's his name. He really hasn't changed much since you first met him, but- at the same time- he's changed a lot. He still has those same big, pretty eyes, that same kind of girlish face, that same nervous-but-somehow-still-apathetic expression, but his hair is a bit longer- long enough that he has to pull it back- and it somehow makes him look both more masculine and more feminine.

And he wears glasses. You never thought glasses could make a person that much more attractive, but on fucking Armin Arlet glasses make him look like a freaking male model. Like one of those you see on the cover of one of those fashion magazines, in a messy, hipster suit and sheek red-rimmed glasses. Except he wore an over-sized sweater, which made him a thousand times cuter.

And you, as an official cool-kid, would probably never admit it at the time.

Instead, you watch him from the corner of your eyes, your mind making little notes that it will probably bring up at the most in-opportune moments. Little notes like the way the collar of his sweater sags, revealing too-prominent (but fucking attractive) collarbone. Or the way his pink lips part when he wants to ask a question or correct the teacher (you know he wants to, the little shit, you've seen his notes) but he doesn't. Or the way he smiles ever-slightly as he breezes through the stupid handouts; the same handouts that take you hours to complete even with his help.

You're halfway through the year and almost finished with the first-semester project with him when you realize that Armin Arlet has dug a burrow into your heart and made his home there.

You're not even certain when you realize this. Maybe it's during lunch, when you notice he's filled the seat beside you. Or maybe it's during theater- the club you say you joined on impulse but most likely joined to spend more time with him- practicing for your school's production of "Duck Hunter Shoots Angel."

Or maybe it's when you catch yourself staring at him in the library, watching the way he licks his lips when he gets to a particularly interesting part of the book, or the way he'd _mark his page with a paperclip that freaking nerd_.

Everyone else apparently recognized the attraction before you did. Mikasa tells you that Eren was ready to give you the "hurt him and I'll castrate you" speech after the first week of school. And then she proceeded to give you the speech herself. You have never been more terrified.

Armin, of course, takes you asking him out with all the grace of a kid two-years-too-young for his grade who's never been kissed, much less had a boyfriend. Meaning he blushed and babbled and stammered out a yes in too many words.

You thought you could never be happier.

Turns out, you were wrong.

Armin accepts your invitation to prom your Senior year with an abundance of squeals and hugs and fleeting kisses, all of which you are perfectly okay with. He's quite a bit younger than you (actually, he's not, but he certainly looks and acts that way sometimes) and hasn't had his first time yet, but you're okay with that too. He calls himself demi-sexual, and though you don't quite understand what that means, you know you'll never push something you know will make him uncomfortable. And you're willing to wait as long as it takes.

Hanji, Armin's and Mikasa's and Eren's pseudo-mom, squeals and calls you "sweet" when she none-too-discreetly asks about your sex life and you respond with that exact line. Their pseudo-dad, Levi, just calls you "responsible". Armin calls you thoughtful, and you'll take his word for it.

The two of you are not the only same-sex couple at Prom- thank god, that would have been awkward if you were. Reiner brought the star basketball player- and bit of a basket case- Bertholdt, and Ymir brought Historia, the sweet, blonde girl with a bright smile and a rather terrifying case of Dissociative Identity Disorder that you would never bring up around either of them for fear for your life.

But you didn't really get to focus much on the others there, because remember that model you compared Armin to in Sophomore Chemistry? Yeah, he looks even better like that in the flesh than he ever did in your imagination.

He blushes when you call him handsome, and your cheeks _might_ have gotten a bit pink when he called you the same. Might have.

Okay, they definitely did.

And when he drags you away from all the dancing and people and party balloons to the Chemistry room (turns out, he still has the master-key ring) only to push you up against the wall and kiss you like there's no tomorrow, you most definitely do not complain. You do, however, tell him that he doesn't have to do this if he's not comfortable.

He tells you, "Hurry up and kiss me, Jean, or I swear to God I will cut off your dick and put it in a jar and leave it in Hanji's classroom for her to find tomorrow. I'm sure she'll be glad to add _that _ to her collection of odd body parts."

You kiss him before he says anything to ruin the mood further (though, you do wonder later if Hanji really does have a collection of odd body parts or if he was just fucking with you).

You kind of expect to take the lead during your first time with him. You forget to take into account that once Armin gets attached to someone, he gets possessive as _fuck_. He dominated you with all the confidence of the kind of guy who got all the ladies _and_ the guys, and discovered a number of few kinks you never knew you had along the way. Like scratching and biting. And "bedroom eyes". You never really liked sultry looks before this, but Armin had the kind of look that could turn your legs to jelly and your dick hard as a fucking diamond.

And if Mr. Erwin sends you an email in the morning about how he "doesn't appreciate having to clean copious amounts of spunk off his floor first thing when he got to school in the morning," well, it was a good thing you and Armin are Seniors.


End file.
